


Burn, Baby, Burn

by jeanjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Codependency, EDIT: NEW TUMBLR IS INNERSYSTEM, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Jealousy, Just boys being badass, Luxury, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nathaniel is #2, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Probably some kinks, Raven!Aaron - Freeform, Raven!Andrew, Raven!Neil, Ravens, Rich Boys, Riko is different, Sexual Tension, The Perfect Court (All For The Game), They are all fine and care for each other, no sexual abuse, perhaps Raven!Seth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-29 17:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14477499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: Nathaniel Wesninski is Riko’s precious #2, his best backliner, weapon of choice, and only mercenary—the first piece of his Perfect Court: in exchange ofeverything, thirteen year old Nathaniel gets his number tattooed on his cheekbone and becomes Riko’s partner for better or for worse. Soon Kevin Day and Jean Moreau join the envied line of Ravens and become partners in their turn, and the four of them chase after glory and find the missing pieces of their Perfect Court one player after the other, drunk on power and victory, caring for one another no matter what.But then Nathaniel strikes a deal with Lola Malcolm to protect himself, and it’s all downhill from here.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Before you come at me with misplaced hate, know that they are all out of character and that Riko is different than in canon. No victim shipped with their abuser here. It’s all just traumatized boys coping by clumsily caring for one another and dreaming of becoming ultimate champions. 
> 
> This story has [a board](https://www.pinterest.fr/oxymorts/number-ii/), [a tag](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/tagged/burn-baby-burn) and [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/0skDJiDVu1xHiIuWOPpY3s?si=8V6pZyYsT-W8xXBdlZhUvg). I’m on [Tumblr](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/).

It was a deal borne out of coincidence, a shady business nobody had told them about. They let them believe what they wanted to believe, and so they did, blooming like poisonous flowers, killing at the touch.

Riko stumbled to his knees and his knife slid on the ground, far out of reach. Nathaniel turned to nonchalantly watch it hit the wall, then back to Riko, where he arched a brow Riko knew was sixty percent insolence and forty percent boredom. There they stood in the middle of Nathaniel’s little league Exy changing room, empty on command. Riko and his uncle had watched his practice from the sidelines, and now he was offering what Nathaniel thought he couldn’t have. It was as easy as that, and it seemed ridiculous.

He couldn’t let himself believe he could have it—so he couldn’t let Riko think he craved it all. An entire stadium rising to its feet and stomping, screaming, asking to be entertained. He wanted the sweat and the soreness, he wanted to feel his calves burn as he ran. He wanted to live for it.

And he wanted Riko to prove himself worthy of it.

“You can do better than that,” he shook his head. Riko wiped his bleeding mouth with a bare forearm and got up, beaming with something new, something like pride and euphoria. Riko’s skin was such a pale, white thing, and Nathaniel couldn’t help but stare—oh, how he loved to see him bleeding just for him.

Nathaniel dropped his knife and Riko huffed in confusion.

“À armes égales, does it ring a bell?”

Riko didn’t speak French, but there was no need to in order to figure out—the way Nathaniel came alive with danger, the way he blossomed where most perished. Pain was his home, menace his element. It was easy to spot Nathaniel Wesninski in this ocean of banality and soberness, bloodstain on ice, a flash of red hair in the winter.

He couldn’t tell if he hated him more than he liked it. He was a hard thing to do either, constantly changing the rules with his moods—king a day, mercenary the other.

“Insane,” Riko whispered. Nathaniel cracked a grin, sharp as his blades. “You are insane,” he repeated, and this time, he couldn’t hide a smirk.

“What makes you think I want in?” Nathaniel asked as he got closer. Riko didn’t step back.

“Everybody does. Why wouldn’t you,” Riko smirked. “I represent all you’ve always desired. Luxury, fame, glory. You were born for this and you know it. Anything else is a whim children like you can’t afford.”

“Perhaps.” It was no secret to Nathaniel. People like him could only stay blind so long—it flowed in their veins, unstoppable, a rush of adrenaline begging to be addressed. The Ravens were claiming him and he was only thirteen—this was a dream come true, but he wasn’t going to beseech. Nathaniel wanted to see how far he could push, how far Riko could retreat just to let him in.

“Then why do you tell me no?” Riko asked again, and it was sharp with the bitterness of somebody who’s rarely told no.

“I didn’t tell you anything.” He looked around, as though all of this was an annoying joke he had no time for. “My father won’t allow it.” He was aware of Nathan’s contempt for the sport and knew there was no point in letting his hopes up when his father would always give the final word to everything. He wasn’t reckless, and he certainly wasn’t free.

“Don’t worry about your father. We have an arrangement.”

Nathaniel snorted in disbelief. “An arrangement.”

“You will come with me,” Riko said.

“Only if you beat me,” Nathaniel decided, because he knew Riko couldn’t.

Riko grinned, and the deal was done.

Nathaniel pinned him to the ground in less than ten seconds, and the hand around his throat was severe enough to show no mercy, Riko knew—but then Nathaniel got up and nodded: there was no point in injuring Riko when he risked his father’s fury in return. A storm unleashed, ruthless. Riko stayed on the ground and leaned on his elbows, out of breath. He was only thirteen.

It was obvious Nathaniel Wesninski wasn’t a boy to get this easily, a fierce negotiator who always aimed for the best. It wasn’t standards, it was dignity; Riko could recognize it as well as his own.

He knew what people like them truly wanted.

“I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nathaniel smirked in his turn, pretended to ponder. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Liberty, luxury, dissipation and shamelessness, those weren’t simple things to secure. He wanted decadence—not a miserable mirage that wouldn’t last.

Riko got up and stood a breath away. “Call me a liar and I call you a coward.”

He watched as something dangerous flashed in Nathaniel’s eyes and faded just as fast. He knew he had come this close to being stabbed, to being killed—but the way Nathaniel relaxed and smiled was everything he didn’t even know he needed. It was provocation, defiance, it was adrenaline in every numbing second. It was a yes.

They didn’t have a say in this, but, this, they weren’t supposed to ever learn.


	2. my bones are not brittle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, this was so encouraging, I appreciate it greatly. You can find me on [Tumblr](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/) if you have questions. (I didn’t correct or edit this because it’s 5 a.m. and I couldn’t be bothered, so sorry in advance.) For those who don’t know, this story is majorly inspired by alaseux’s [amazing fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830957/chapters/31809714).

“How do you know he’ll say yes?”

“They,” Riko corrected. “I want them both. And—because nobody ever tells me no.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nathaniel grinned from the side, and it was so terribly arrogant Riko felt like smashing his face in. The flow of high schoolers was already streaming out of the main building, though, and they didn’t have much time to catch the twins.

They were leaning against Riko’s shiny, black Bugatti when Nathaniel spotted his favorite. A miracle of a backliner, Nathaniel had said; and a temper he wondered if he could ever tame. He needed to be given the chance to try, and he wanted to make him his, flesh and bone, a thing protected and cherished, praised to nausea.

Mayfield High School was a sad, tasteless thing lost somewhere in Southern California, grass dried up long ago and sun blaring a little too aggressively above for Nathaniel’s taste—people walked by looking elsewhere, like they didn’t really want to be there. In the middle of a questionable low middle class, they stood out like giants, pushing their three hundred dollars sunglasses on the top of their heads, scratching the back of their Italian shoes just to kill time.

“Nice fragrance,” Riko pointed out as he pushed himself off the car, catching a tiny whiff of Nathaniel’s perfume. It was musky yet delicate, something to haunt and dream of night after night. He was no stranger to it, as they shared a room, but he knew Nathaniel never turned down a compliment.

Nathaniel didn’t have time to respond—Aaron Minyard was walking out of his building and heading straight for a bench. Riko and Nathaniel appeared before he could even sit, and he looked up in sheer annoyance.

“What do you want? You don’t look like high schoolers,” Aaron growled.

Indeed, they were dressed in black from head to toe, expensive suits that none of these students had ever seen. Riko dedicated a solid second in huffing at those who walked by, disgusted by their bland normality. They were everything he despised and even more, but it was the only place they knew they could get through.

Nathaniel caught Aaron searching the crowd for his twin, but Andrew wasn’t here. He turned his attention back to them in disappointment.

“I am Riko Moriyama. I am here to talk to you.”

Aaron looked at the number one tattooed on Riko’s cheekbone and frowned. He slid his gaze to Nathaniel, studied his cheekbone in his turn, the cold and slender number two anchored in his flesh. Nathaniel thought he saw recognition on his face, and Aaron lingered on him a little longer than common courtesy would have wanted him to.

“I know who you are. I don’t care.”

Nathaniel smirked in anticipated victory and Riko finally talked. “We want you on the Raven lineup. We’re short on backliners, and you are exactly what we need.”

Aaron frowned, mistrustful. “As if.” He glanced between the two of them, then fidgeted nervously, searching for Andrew. “I’m not getting anywhere alone anyway.”

“We know,” Riko said. “We want your brother as well.”

“I’m going to miss my bus,” he pressed.

“We can give you a ride,” Nathaniel said, hands in his pockets. There he stood royally, radiating something breathtaking Aaron couldn’t help but resent. He did stare, and Nathaniel stared back, almost daring him to deny him.

“No thanks,” he snapped, dry.

“Whatever you need, we can provide.”

“What if I’m not interested?”

Riko huffed in disdain. “You and your brother have just gone through a trial for murder and you want me to think you aren’t worried about your future? The best you can hope for now is a mundane public establishment, and more luck than men actually get. As for Exy? Nobody will want you on their team with a file like this.”

Aaron’s face tightened with anger, and he looked ready to burst—Nathaniel sensed it a mile away, way too familiar with things like fury. He was uncontrollable himself, and he’d seen his father’s expression change in seconds too many times not to pick up on clues.

“What Riko is trying to say,” he grinned with ambition, “is that you belong with us.”

“I don’t belong with anyone.”

Nathaniel arched both eyebrows, unimpressed.

“I think you misheard me. I want you—and I’ll get you.” He thought he could feel Riko’s piercing stare as he talked, but he couldn’t bother to turn to check. Something tickled the back of his skin and he felt himself bloom with enthusiasm, something violent and powerful he could hardly contain. He liked the way Riko couldn’t keep his eyes off, and he liked the way Aaron took his words in, fighting back because he thought he didn’t deserve it. They were much more alike than he’d thought.

“If I say yes, my brother will be allowed to get off his treatment whenever he wants. Safely.” He gave a look to the main building, where Andrew Minyard had just come out, all dressed in black. Riko snorted—he was already made for the Ravens.

“Nobody keeps secrets as best as we do,” Nathaniel reassured; and it was soft and quiet, almost a whisper, making Aaron straighten through a cold shiver. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were all keeping.

Andrew was getting closer, and he knew he didn’t have much time left with them. As soon as Andrew would come around, he’d leave and take Aaron with him. “I have a bit of a dependence problem,” Aaron said as he looked to the side.

It was nervous with shame, shaky with uncertainty. Nathaniel rolled his shoulders, confident, and Riko rudely checked his phone like they weren’t even there. It was wide and black, looking brand new and unaffordable—like most things Riko and Nathaniel owned.

“It won’t be an issue.”

Even without the Ravens, Nathaniel had enough contacts to provide anything a shady and defensive teenager like Aaron could possibly need. Fake IDs, falsified documents, dope of all kinds—he was the answer to all temptations, the cold black thread that linked all sins together.

He was part of another world, something bigger and more dangerous, something most people even ignored existed. Nathaniel thought Aaron would do well there, and for a glorious second, he tried to imagine Aaron dressed in Raven attire.

“What about Andrew?” Riko asked, and he’d spotted them by now, speeding up in a protective stance. Nathaniel wondered if he knew what they were here for, wondered if Andrew would act different if he knew they wouldn’t ever hurt them. Probably not.

“I’ll take care of him,” Aaron nodded. It was sharp but it was genuine, and Riko knew he’d made a deal.

“Then we’ll keep in touch through this,” he said, and handed a neat card. It had Tetsuji’s number on it, but he’d scribbled his own on the back.

Aaron turned the card around and asked, “what’s the third number?” It was written in bright bloody red, in curvy numbers that were too elegant to be rushed.

“Mine,” Nathaniel said. Aaron looked up at that, but neither spoke up.

Andrew was a few feet away when Riko decided it was time to leave. He’d come all the way to recruit them both, but if he’d convinced one of the twins, there was no bother trying to convince both. He knew where one would go, the other would follow.

“Call us when you’re ready,” Riko said as he glanced at Andrew. He met his stare, but didn’t look away. There weren’t many things Riko Moriyama was afraid of—Nathaniel Wesninski was one of them, though he would never admit it—but these pale twins were nothing but whims he refused to let go of. That goalkeeper—he’d dreamed of him for too long to be denied.

Nathaniel’s eyes lingered as they walked back to the Bugatti, but Aaron’s attention was stolen when Andrew appeared at his sides. He could see them talking in frowns, but eventually Aaron got on the school bus and, though Andrew gave a cold stare their way, he followed.

Riko locked the doors and watched high schoolers walk before the parked car in stunned stares. He felt a rush of pride going through him at that, and Nathaniel snorted at his sides. “Predictable.” He knew what praise and admiration felt like, however, and he couldn’t deny he loved it even more. Perhaps even more when it came to Riko.

And it was just as reciprocated.

“What was that?”

Nathaniel turned to him, smirk wide and terrible. “What?”

“Don’t make me ask again. Once is more than you deserve.”

Nathaniel’s smirk only grew bigger, and Riko turned his attention back to the steering wheel in annoyance. “You want him?” Riko mumbled.

“You want Andrew.”

“But I don’t want him.”

“Jealousy looks awful on you, Riko.” That was a lie, and they both knew it, even as Nathaniel was the best liar he’d ever had to be lied by. Most days it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t, what was a game and what wasn’t—but today, Riko reeked of possessiveness and that was something Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to dislike.

He stared even as Riko told him to shut up and turned the engine on, hip hop blasting on full volume almost instantly. Nathaniel chuckled and shook his head, sliding his phone out of his slacks to scroll through Jean’s texts and putting his feet on the dashboard in an ultimate sign of childish provocation.

And, as always, Riko let him.

 

 

“You should get some sleep.”

Nathaniel tore his eyes off the pink sky to peep at the dashboard. The clock only showed nine pm but he wasn’t sleepy yet. How could he be, when everything pumped so vehemently in his veins, bringing him to life each second a little more? He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t possibly ignore all these intricate, intertwined thoughts. Aaron’s name tickled the tip of his tongue and he peeped at his sides again.

“I don’t need any.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Riko said.

He would have easily mocked Riko’s useless sternness, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Instead he ignored Riko’s words and went back to gazing at the sky through the rolled down window, letting his curls bounce off his forehead with the breeze.

It was quiet, around here, and it was odd. It was a place for déjà-vus, one you had the terrible impression you had already left.

“We never see the sky at Evermore.” Nathaniel didn’t bother waiting for an answer: he knew there would be none. However heavy Riko’s eyes on him may have been, he wasn’t one to let himself talk about his home the way Nathaniel did. It wasn’t weakness, but it was confession still, a meek yet sufficient crack in their spotless lifestyle that ultimately led to an uncomfortable amount of reflection. The more they would think about it, the more problems they would find with the world they lived in, and Riko refused to even acknowledge it. Nathaniel, on the other hand, had always been talented at spotting neglect and isolation.

It was easy to forget he had been alone all along.

“It’s a shame,” he said. “It’s pretty.”

Riko huffed in disdain. “This does not matter.”

“No,” Nathaniel agreed, and then, as he looked intently at Riko, “beauty and triviality go hand in hand most of the time.” He stared at the moon a little longer, wondering what freedom felt like. He had never felt like a prisoner at Evermore—not where his passion lied—but sometimes, every once in a while, for a brief and tender moment, he would paint himself another life.

Hundreds of lives.

It was black outside by the time they reached the next gas station. Nathaniel was dozing off in the passenger seat when Riko nudged his shoulder. It was gentle enough to be cautious, but firm enough to be familiar, and Nathaniel only woke in a confused grunt. Riko was always silent; his father had never been.

Riko told him to fill the tank while he went in and paid—and came back with bottles of water and Nathaniel’s favorite chips. He stared at the pack when Riko threw it on his lap, contemplated making a joke on how horrified Kevin would be, but nodded a silent thank you instead. Riko pretended not to see and started the engine, and then they were gone.

Nathaniel almost asked why they didn’t stay the night at some luxurious hotel instead of driving all night down the empty highway. Deep down, he knew that was because staying alone with Nathaniel had always been something delicate—something familiar and overdone, for sure, something mindless neither even noticed, but something vicious that crawled under their skin and made them say things they didn’t even think worthy of saying in the light of day. That was the secret to so many fights, and the weak ways of so many confessions—tonight, Riko wanted neither.

He smoked a cigarette after the other, turned the volume louder when he felt his own throat itch with the need to talk, and examined all there was to examine under the faint and gloomy neon signs surrounding the highway.

More than once he felt like bringing up the Minyard twins, but decided to keep Aaron close to his heart, where nobody could take him. He was a secret to keep—a thing he knew had to belong to him and him only. Riko could have all he wanted, hell, he could have that goalkeeper they both knew would bring glory upon them if he ever cooperated—but Aaron was a damaged thing like himself, and he cherished those above all else. They were the most fun to break—the most fascinating to bring back to life afterwards.

They glanced at each other through half-closed lids and conveniently ignored the weight of their avoidance. And then they couldn’t anymore.

“We all have this in common.”

Riko looked at him then back at the road. He took it as an encouragement to go on.

“The recruits. Me, you, the twins, even Jean—we all have fucked up families, don’t we? Don’t you think it’s funny?”  

He felt him tense from across the dashboard, watching as Riko’s face tightened and relaxed again and again. Oh, he knew too well how dangerous a topic this had always been, but, for reasons unknown, Riko swallowed and took it in.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the rest.”

“You think so?” Nathaniel smiled, a meek and tired thing that was more this of a child than the dangerous thing he always wore. It was a haunting sight, close to innocence, but Riko was never fooled. “We all have been denied the luxury of standard affiliation,” he said, spitting the words like they were poison on his tongue and he didn’t want them, “so we find shelter in something that wants us no matter what.”

“Exy doesn’t want anyone. You have to work for it.”

“And we all do.” Nathaniel thought about his own sleepless nights, the countless bruises he had collected along the way. He thought about Jean’s mindless dedication and Kevin’s unwavering determination. Those were things worked for, and they had all earned their place in the Perfect Court. They had earned even more. “It’s the whole point—we have nothing else.”

Nathaniel thought he caught Riko’s brows tremble in the dark.

It wasn’t a lie, but it did hold a mistake—Riko hadn’t lost everything. He still had a father, somewhere else, and he still desperately entertained the idea of catching his attention. Nathaniel thought it naïve to think such a man would ever feel pride for people like them, for people who had never been more than a bad timing and an inconvenience, a thing they thought better discarded or exchanged. There was no reasoning with soulless men.

He had given up on his own father long ago.

Perhaps the day he had been hit with an empty bottle of expensive white wine, minuscule shards of glass anchored in his flesh like unforgiving memories. His shoulder blade had healed badly, and he sometimes turned in the mirror to catch a glimpse of the mutilated flesh. He would stare, mesmerized, both by his surviving body and by the boundaries of human violence, wondering where it stopped, wondering if it stopped at all.

Each time he would run pensive fingers over the scars and ask himself if Riko had ever mattered enough to be hit at all.

He thought it better not to know.

“If your vain daddy issues don’t take us to Championships, I want nothing to do with it.”

Nathaniel snorted. “Of course you don’t.” He looked at him, stuck in an endless loop of far-off souvenirs. “Denial has always been your strong suit, hasn’t it? I guess that’s who Kevin takes it from.”

“And who do you think taught Jean such despicable insolence?”

He shrugged, nervy. “He had it in him before he even stepped on our Court.”

“Our Court?” Riko echoed, and for a moment Nathaniel almost expected him to deny it. He didn’t.

“All that’s yours is mine too.” He looked outside, knowing this never included the things they kept silent. Their secrets, their memories, things better left unspoken. It wasn’t distrust—it was self-preservation, and they were all masters at it. It wasn’t like they really had a choice.

Riko let the conversation flop and Nathaniel pulled out a cigarette.

 

 

 

 

“How was it?”

Nathaniel clicked his tongue in amusement but said nothing.

“How do you want it to be?” Riko outdid in far-off annoyance.

“Just asking,” Jean shrugged without looking up from his phone. He seemed as disinterested as usual, so bitter and focused it was hard to get through. Only one person had been able to so far, though nobody knew how.

Nathaniel jumped over the edge and let himself fall on the couch, landing a little too close to Jean for comfort. Jean glanced at the movement, but went back to his phone, and Nathaniel groaned at the lack of attention he was given.

“Hi baby.” He grinned, because he knew he didn’t have the right to call him that. This wasn’t a pet name—it was provocation, as it so often was. Riko sank in the seat in front of them and watched the show with attentive eyes, but Nathaniel refused to acknowledge his presence.

“Fuck you dearly,” Jean mumbled as he typed something with his thumbs. Nathaniel tried to catch a glance but Jean got his phone out of reach before he could peep. “And—certainly not your business.”

“Come on,” Nathaniel sighed. “We just found you an amazing backliner and that’s how you thank me. I thought French people were supposed to be polite.”

“We are hypocritical, not polite.”

“That’s all the same,” he said as he sat upright. He met Riko’s eyes and held his gaze a little too long, not quite sure of what he wanted to find there. It was Kevin who broke the contact when he appeared in the doorframe of the lounge, hands in his pockets as though waiting for them since the very beginning.

“Dare I assume you convinced the twins?”

Riko huffed. “Of course we did. He lies as he breathes.”

Kevin frowned and Jean looked up from his phone in the same breath, thrown off. They weren’t used to Riko standing aside and waiting for it all to happen. Then again—it was Nathaniel, and Nathaniel was the odd exception to everything.

“Didn’t you do the talking?” Kevin asked.

Riko huffed again, visibly embittered.

“The boy looked pretty intrigued, perhaps even taken with him.” It was hard to tell if he was talking about Nathaniel or about Aaron. Nobody asked.

“Riko is only bothered because I said I wanted that backliner.” Riko caught his stare and they defied each other in silence once again, but neither boys seemed to mind—the sight was all too familiar, and they chattered on their side like they weren’t even there.

Nathaniel only turned to Kevin when he heard them talking about the Ravens. The team had supposedly arrived the day before, and tomorrow Nathaniel would be introduced to all the players. He could hardly sit still with the enthusiasm of it; reeking pride and narcissism in ways of a Wesninski. He couldn’t wait to prove himself worthy of his long awaited position, of his infamous number two.

“Interested now?” Kevin asked, looking cold yet satisfied. Attracting Nathaniel’s attention was never that easy, but it was something Kevin knew how to do: Nathaniel could hardly stay away from a court for a day, and he could feel his own hands prickling with need.

“What do you suggest?” Nathaniel crossed his ams.

“The Ravens’ first practice ended an hour ago. Everyone is about to head for lunch and we have less than three hours before they come back on the court again.” He paused, eyes glinting with something self-righteous. “Private scrimmage?”

Nathaniel’s smile slowly curved its way to his way, dangerous. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Jean started growling at his sides. “You should rest instead. You won’t be of any use if you don’t get some sleep.”

Their eyes met and they stared, both detached and defensive equally. It was something odd to witness, but the two other boys didn’t bother waiting for it. They knew how it would end, because it was always the same thing—Jean looking out for Nathaniel, and Nathaniel baring his teeth to show he couldn’t be ordered around by anyone.

Riko was the only one allowed to, they knew, but they never pointed it out. Hierarchy was something they were okay with. They needed it—unsure what to do with too much power all at once.

The speed with which Nathaniel’s smirk faded and turned cold was almost frightening. He was too much of his father in those brief moments, losing himself in something dark stuck somewhere between anger and disgust. But he didn’t snap—he only hardened, straightening on the couch like he couldn’t bear to lie so close to Jean anymore.

“Mind your own business, Jean.”

Jean didn’t look away for all that. He had been around long enough now to start to know the boy by heart, where Kevin was too oblivious or too distracted, and Riko too deep in denial. Jean was something odd Nathaniel wasn’t sure he liked, yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to loathe him either.

Jean Moreau was a bittersweet thing, but the taste was too interesting.

“I can handle myself. I’m not tired and I want to practice.” He got up in a flash, but Kevin waited for Riko’s approval, standing still in the doorframe. He hadn’t budged since he had arrived, and Nathaniel turned, realizing he wasn’t following.

His eyes flicked to Riko, but he only shrugged in indifference.

“He needs to perfect his technique before our first official match. Make sure he doesn’t let you scare or he won’t play.”

Nathaniel’s face twisted in fury, but Kevin snatched his shirt before he could protest. He blindly held up his middle finger, tan and slender, then disappeared. Of course it was a lie, but it didn’t matter: they were aiming for perfection, and they wouldn’t rest until they had it.

 

 

Quite predictably, Nathaniel fell asleep on a Home bench when Kevin went to shower. He said he’d follow in a second, but Kevin never reappeared and, Nathaniel—he was already gone, eyes closed and heavy with exhaustion. Sweat had dried on his half bare body by the time Jean poked his shoulder.

It’d been half an hour since he had dozed off there, and Jean had been looking for him for a while. He looked annoyed by the fact, likely irked with himself for not thinking of checking the Court first. There, standing above Nathaniel’s body with his arms crossed, he looked taller and more intimidating than he had ever had.

Nathaniel sat upright in a sluggish groan and Jean sneered from above.

“Would you look at that. Nathaniel Wesninski, needing rest? Who would have thought.”

Nathaniel pushed his shoulder but Jean hardly moved an inch. He looked too satisfied with the ease with which Nathaniel had proved he was right, but it was hard to find ground to stand on now that his eyes burned with fatigue.

“How do you feel?”

They shared a brief look and Nathaniel knew he was talking about the Ravens. They rarely ever asked anyone such a question otherwise, and Jean knew he had been waiting for this moment eternally. Now that it was so close, Nathaniel felt almost sick with desire. He needed the triumph, he needed the thrill and the glory, he wanted to be part of it all and to be praised like the three of them constantly were.

He wanted to give them something to look at. Something to be angry for.

“I won’t sleep tonight.” This wasn’t disobedience, it was positive anxiety, it was the results of years of distant longing. He had played with several Ravens before, but this wasn’t the same. He was a Raven himself, now. This is all he had ever wanted—all Riko had ever promised him.

Jean huffed, exasperated. “If you don’t sleep tonight, I will tell Riko to keep you on the sidelines tomorrow. You will watch from afar, and then perhaps you will learn the importance of rest.”

“There is no such thing as rest in the Nest,” Nathaniel said, eyes dark and oddly serious.

“Perhaps not,” Jean conceded. “But you are privileged and you should be mature enough to realize that. You are an imbecile to waste your talent by pushing yourself so harshly.”

“Talent?” Nathaniel repeated, suddenly overjoyed to have Jean compliment him by accident. They were far done denying such things—they were the Perfect Court, after all, and didn’t adorn their numbers vainly—but it was always strangely enjoyable to get praise out of Jean.

“You know what I mean.”

“And I know that this is not pushing myself harshly. This is dedication and hard work.”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking Kevin is always right,” he warned.

Nathaniel huffed, sounding almost offended Jean would assume such a thing about him. Kevin was far from being the be-all end-all of truth and wisdom and they knew it, constantly searching for standards that were all but realistic. Even stars like them couldn’t shine that bright.

At least that’s what Nathaniel figured, despite everything.

Nathaniel hadn’t been as exposed by the media as Kevin, Riko and Jean had been over the last years. Riko had always been in the spotlight, expected to live up to the expectations; and Kevin had always been the champion-to-be cameras never forgot about. When his mother had died three years ago, every sport channel had made a point to keep him on the news constantly, inspecting his every move to foretell whether or not he would succeed. Upon joining the Ravens, there was little doubt left. Jean, on the other hand, had come from another country where Exy was underdeveloped and uncared for, and it was curiosity that first brought attention upon him. Riko had chosen him, the media said, so he had to be worth his while—and he was. Even though he wasn’t as talented and as passionate as Nathaniel was, he radiated power and elegance, something unattainable and dreamy Nathaniel often found himself enjoying.

As for Nathaniel—well, Tetsuji had minimized his exposition on purpose. He had kept his reasons confidential, but he had always suspected it had something to do with his family name and the risk of being over-exposed. He found it ironic and unfair, at times, knowing so much about the other branch of the Moriyamas; he wanted as much fame as Kevin was given, and he deserved it.

Of all four, Nathaniel was the most brilliant, and rumors spread faster than fathomable in Edgar Allan. He had a reputation before he even was a Raven, and now that he was one, he couldn’t wait to leave them agape and wanting.

Jean remembered it, speaking more calmly as Nathaniel unlaced his sneakers. “You have quite the reputation here. What do you think they will think tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like feel like something special in the Nest.” It wasn’t modesty—a Wesninski wasn’t capable of such a thing—it was only fact. Tetsuji had never particularly gentle with one, and rules applied to all. Even Riko accepted that, no matter how great and terrible his ego was.

Still, Jean shook his head in disapproval. “You are the person everyone looks up to. As far as Ravens go, at least; that timeless hero people whose name people tattoo on their ribs and whose posters hang above those same people’s beds. A champion.”

It was half mocking, Nathaniel knew; so he laughed and they both smirked, content with what they had. This was home. They didn’t need much more than that. Nathaniel said he had always known, and Jean left with a snort, the redhead watching as he disappeared into the long corridor under the bleachers.

 

 

Nathaniel sat there almost imperiously, subtle smirk hovering his face like he couldn’t wait for the moment he would get to snap. He didn’t know when, and he didn’t know why, but he had the feeling he would. Today, after all, was his first practice as a Raven, and they were all staring at him distractedly as he stared back, impressive and haughty, sitting unbothered on the bench behind Riko.

He wore his black and red jersey, sporting his number two like it was his only name. It wasn’t pride anymore, it was completion.

Of what? He didn’t know.

Something great.

“If one of you ever shows up late again, you will be benched for three long games. I don’t want you anywhere near my Court if you can’t respect the game.” Where usual players would have chuckled in exasperation, nobody breathed. The Ravens were still and quiet, listening to Riko’s every word and peeping at Nathaniel scarred, tattooed face whenever he stopped long enough for them to. Then he went through the first drills of the morning, and coldly repeated they were required to master them all if they wanted to be part of the next game. It wasn’t anywhere near, and much could happen in a single Raven practice, but it was the rule.

Nathaniel had mastered it in the blink of an eye, Riko standing there confused and angry, unsure what to do with such potential. The boy had looked so smug and satisfied, eyes beaming with enthusiasm as he squeezed his red racquet between his fingers, and Riko had met Tetsuji’s gaze.

They had never told him about that—about how Nathaniel had learned and mastered the drills quicker than anyone else. Somehow, he was too oblivious to realize it himself.

Riko turned and glanced at Nathaniel. All Ravens imitated without thinking twice and suddenly all eyes were on him. It made Nathaniel smile dangerous, content with the attention and the praise he knew would come.

The entire team was made of thirty-three players, but most had already crossed paths with Nathaniel one way or another. They had never talked, however, and Nathaniel certainly hadn’t played with them, preferring private scrimmages with the best of the best, and, if he couldn’t, the best of the Ravens.

Even if he lived here, wandering around the Court and in corridors and in dark changing rooms, he had always been far out of reach. Absent, foreign, judging from the outside. They were never good enough.

He couldn’t see why he would give them his attention—so he didn’t. And sitting there as they all stood, nervy, he looked like a god about to be crowned.

“This is Nathaniel Wesninski.” Silence settled. Oh, they already knew. “Like most of us he is a junior this year and joins our lineup as number two.”

The aura Nathaniel gave off without saying a single word was breathtaking. They couldn’t possibly know about his father, about the blood on his hands, the things they had made him do, not even the bones he had broken on Riko’s demand, merciless. What they knew what this intriguing face standing next to Riko on official pictures, this quick shadow nobody seemed able to stop. It was enough.

Meanwhile, he played with a knife, elbows resting on his knees as he displayed boredom to rudeness—and only looked up when Riko was done for good.

He felt it coming before it even started.

“Why is he number two if he’s a junior?” one of the players asked. “He didn’t earn his place on the team yet. He didn’t even play.”

Jean huffed in disdain, and they all assumed this had to be a junior year to act this ignorant. In any other team, this question might have had importance, though numbers were rarely reflection of hierarchy and skill in Exy, but this was Edgar Allan, and this was the Perfect Court. Nothing applied to their dark, twisted little world.

Kevin tensed but didn’t say anything. Riko looked like he was trying to decide what to do with such ignorance, and, instead, it was Jean who answered.

“Nathaniel earned his place on the lineup long before any of you did.” He turned to the boy who had spoken, cold and contemptuous. “Long before you were even considered.”

Recruitment at Edgar Allan was a difficult and picky process, choosing the most talented and the most wealthy; but then there were those who had applied and had, by some luck, been accepted. Generally they didn’t make it past the sideline benches during games unless Riko decided to play goonies on the Court, sacrificing player after player to eliminate opponents—and Jean had read all the files. He knew exactly who that boy was, what he was worth, and how much of a disappointment he was going to be.

The attitude could have been a strong point, but it was so amazingly mundane none of the boys could bear the sight of it. Nathaniel, behind them all, looked more amused than anything. Kevin looked personally irritated, and Riko’s eyes went colder with the seconds.

Nobody really expected Nathaniel to get up, but he did, approaching the boy knife in hand as everyone neatly stilled. Nathaniel felt Riko’s intent stare on his back, and caught Kevin’s disapproving frown in his side vision, but it was as easy as that to ignore both.

The blade tickled the boy’s chin and Nathaniel smiled. In another situation, it might have looked genuine.

“I am better than all of you combined.” He paused, looked down at the player’s jersey: number 23. His brow arched in amusement as he recalled Riko’s own words. “Haven’t you heard?”

The boy didn’t dare breathe, but he shook his head lightly enough to brush the tip of his blade and shudder. Nathaniel looked content.

“The best of us only have one digit.”

A few boys whistled and he heard Lydia sneer on his left. He didn’t bother acknowledge any of them.

“Quit it.” It was Riko’s stern voice, but he could decipher the slight satisfaction in his tone. This was the one of a master who had just witnessed his apprentice’s progression—a lesson taught, remembered, executed beautifully. It was pride. “Start practicing and stop wasting my time.”

Jean threw Nathaniel his racquet and he caught it without looking, too used to the gesture to even process it. He didn’t step away from the boy instantly, instead holding his stare even as 23 had the best of five inches over him.

He put the knife away and slid it in his pocket, then pulled on the front of the boy’s jersey. Dylan Montgomery, it said.

He leaned in, far too close to anything but a threat. “My bones are not brittle,” he whispered, hovering Montgomery’s face with a smirk. “You can’t break me. Me? I will tear you into minuscule pieces and smash you broken. Be a Raven or be nothing at all.”

Then he leaned back again, looking unbothered, flattening the front of his jersey and gently slapping his cheek.

“I pity you.”

Riko waited two feet away, and Nathaniel jogged to him as though nothing had ever happened.


	3. i’mma be trill, you should be trill too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blabla as usual here is my [tumblr](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/), [the tag](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/tagged/bbb-tag), [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/0skDJiDVu1xHiIuWOPpY3s?si=X2MbJiDOS2u-6-8zU8JT8w) and [the board](https://www.pinterest.fr/oxymorts/burn-baby-burn/), and thank you for your support my loves

That both Minyard brothers had finally accepted to enroll Edgar Allan University never meant things would go smoothly. If anything the day of their arrival happened to be chaotic, a storm that never eased: Nathaniel’s volatile temper, Jean’s lack of communication and Kevin’s unrealistic expectations towards their new goalkeeper. Andrew had changed, he had walked to the Court, and he had stood before the goal—holding his racquet as he looked at him in the eye and ignored Kevin’s shots. Riko had fought—a lot—and things never seemed to go as planned. He should have known that adding two criminals to the bunch of troubled kids they already were would be a challenge. Nathaniel hadn’t expected it to be so exhausting.

What wasn’t, however, was Aaron Minyard.

It didn’t mean he was compliant, or that he cared at all—but Nathaniel caught something shining in his eyes from a distance, giving away something he knew he would never admit. Aaron was something interesting, twisted by his own anger and the things he couldn’t let out, and Nathaniel was determined to make him snap.

Their talent didn’t stand out half as much when they practiced with the rest of the Ravens, Aaron because he was too stubborn to adapt, and Andrew because he didn’t even try. Neither found interest in following the rules and, with each passing minute, Riko had been forced to grow more and more ruthless. They had a long way to go in order to catch up, and they were hardly even running.

The first official Raven game took place in the big city nearby, against opponents they had already taken out the year before. Kevin and Jean had studied them carefully, while Riko had pretended not to need it, and Nathaniel had neatly avoided extra work. He wasn’t interested in strategy—he wanted the spontaneity, the risk of being wrong, the satisfaction of finding out he was right still. He needed to act in the moment. He never even thought twice.

There had been a long and animated discussion concerning Andrew’s role in all of this. He was only a freshman but he was far more talented than the other goalkeepers they had on the team, but Andrew was simply refusing to cooperate and there was nothing they could do. They benched him for the whole game, glaring his way on every occasion—but Aaron was sent in after Nathaniel.

He passed the Court doors as he removed his helmet, smirking at the closest cameras from the more than comfortable lead he had allowed his team to have. While he had blocked the opponents access to their goal, Kevin and Riko had gone all out to score as much as possible. Kevin followed, and they both stood before the Away bench as Aaron put his helmet on.

Nathaniel remembered Aaron hadn’t played an official game yet. He had only played in juvie, for all he knew, but he was confident someone like Aaron behaved well under pressure. Those were the most interesting types to watch. “You will do well,” he said. Whether it was a threat or an encouragement, it was hard to tell.

Aaron frowned, like he considered telling Nathaniel to fuck off for a second. Then his face twisted in agitation and he pulled on his helmet strap, turning away.

And, for the most part, Nathaniel had been right: Aaron blocked the goal more than once, deflected many shots with adaptive spontaneity, and body-checked enough strikers to make the goalkeeper’s job easier.

Maybe that was the reason why the opponent team started losing their patience with the Ravens’ merciless methods and their unmoderated violence, because seconds after Riko shot on goal and scored, their dealer crashing into Aaron so brutally he was sent flying. He collapsed on the ground in a sickening sound and didn’t get up right away.

Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped from the bench and stood behind the Plexiglas walls, waiting for someone to take him out if he couldn’t do it himself. Soon enough the closest Ravens grabbed him by the shoulders and Aaron blindly reached for his mouth under his helmet. He was bleeding all over, and confused enough by the impact to not fully realize what had just happened. He didn’t ask, didn’t panic; and when they dragged him to the sidelines for an emergency health check, Nathaniel noticed Aaron’s eyes were dangerously rolling backwards.

Whatever he had hit, no matter the impact, he wasn’t going back in the game and Nathaniel knew it. Tetsuji met his gaze and Nathaniel frowned, serious as rarely; so Tetsuji eventually nodded. He knew he was the only one who was both able to avenge one of their players and to make sure they wouldn’t mistake this as anything else but bad strategy. Sometimes a response this violent was enough for opponents to make a comeback, but Riko was still in and now so was he. They didn’t stand a chance—certainly not when Nathaniel boiled with rage.

It wasn’t obvious at first, as he calmly jogged to his position, racquet in hand. The buzzer let the game begin again and everyone went off running and crashing and yelling, but Nathaniel didn’t move. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes immediately found who he was looking for. Number two had a reputation before he had even stepped on the court, he knew, so the dealer stilled in sheer horror.

Nathaniel cracked a terrible grin through the grating of his helmet, and when he walked to him, it was as imperious as it was contained. Calm. Cold and malevolent in every step. He grabbed his throat and ignored the way gloved hands desperately clung to his wrist, trying to make him let go. He considered pulling out his knives for a moment, but thought about twice; the prejudice this would bring to the Ravens, and on his very first game. He couldn’t risk it. Goonies and victims, on the other hand, were all but rare in this brutal game, and Nathaniel figured he could use Riko’s momentum as a diversion to make things even again.

He glanced at the Away bench and caught a glimpse of Aaron, looking straight at him where all the action actually happened on the other side of the Court. He heard the first signs of a fight, and their own offensive dealer yell something in the back, but none of it was for him. Nathaniel, for all he knew, had always been free to destroy as much as he wanted to.

It was what he did best after all.

“If you ever put your hands on him I will cut them off.” Nathaniel stared at him hard, grip tightening around his throat as he struggled to free him. The dealer opened his eyes wide and conveyed all the dread he couldn’t voice, choking, but Nathaniel only smiled.

The second after he was smashed against the Plexiglas, right before Aaron’s eyes. The Raven team nurses stilled in surprise and everyone around him started screaming in vicious enthusiasm. Perhaps they didn’t know Aaron, but he was one of their own, and though the Ravens weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, they liked revenge almost as much as they did victory.

Riko turned around, he could tell from his side vision, but he didn’t tear his eyes off Aaron. He stared in confusion, sitting still on the bench like he had the power to stop everything if he ever told him to. But he didn’t say anything, even as Nathaniel waited and tightened his grip on his throat again—so Nathaniel smashed his head against the wall once, twice, and the third time he thought he heard something crack.

It was as satisfying as it was thrilling, and he stood there, shivering in delight before the crumpled form that had sunk to the ground in a tortured gasp. Two players from the opponent team had gotten closer but stopped, knowing better, perhaps, than to try and get close to him. It didn’t matter that they didn’t mean to touch him, that they didn’t even want to avenge their dealer in their turn. It was Nathaniel, and he wasn’t letting anyone close, no matter the excuse.

He looked up and caught Aaron’s gaze again. It was all frustration and puzzlement, but the nurse was patting cotton pads on his bloody lips and Nathaniel had a game to win. He gave him a smile so rotten he shook with amusement—and turned around before Aaron could do anything.

 

 

Nathaniel had been taken out right after his little stunt, but Tetsuji had argued with the coaches, claiming they didn’t see anything, and Nathaniel was allowed to come back with a yellow card only. Riko narrowed his eyes at him when he trotted back onto the Court, glorious, welcoming the gloved hands that dared slap his shoulder as he passed. He didn’t need to talk with Riko to know what he was thinking.

It wasn’t disapproval. No matter how much he tried, Riko wasn’t a good actor. He’d never been. Perhaps did he like rules and structures, and so did Kevin—but he liked chaos just as much, and this was only the pure example his weapon of choice had come to maturation.

He was perfect.

They won the game with a lead of sixteen points, but nobody truly cared. They knew they would win, and surprise had always been an effective drug. There was none.

On the bus back home, everyone went silent and put their earbuds in, or slowly dozed off against the headrests—but Nathaniel and Riko were sitting side by side in the far back of the bus, and Nathaniel realized he couldn’t be more awake.

He didn’t ask how he had been. Riko had spent the majority of the evening on the Court—not by necessity, but because he liked to start off the season with the biggest, most impressive leads and nobody but him and Kevin could do it that well—and Nathaniel was long used having Riko’s back without being noticed. He didn’t really mind, as much as he liked being in the spotlight.

He spread his knees, leg brushing against Riko’s through their black sweatpants. Riko looked down but didn’t budge. If he didn’t search for the contact, he didn’t move away from it, either, and Nathaniel always considered this a victory.

“I’m waiting.”

“You can wait,” Riko said, looking up at the closest head he found, resting on the back of his seat a few rows front.

“I’m used to it,” Nathaniel shrugged, “could do it all night,” he added as he made himself more comfortable on his side of the bench.

“I am not going to praise you for doing what you are expected to do.” He paused, then swallowed. “Or for putting your position in the game in danger.” It was true: nobody had guarded their goal while he had been on a quest for revenge. They had another backliner, yes, but he wasn’t nearly as good as Nathaniel was eyes closed. And if Nathaniel had been handed a red card, he would have been out for the rest of the game and even more. “I want to play with you in my back. They don’t know me as well as you do. I win more easily when you are there.”

“I know.” Nathaniel smiled, and it was as knowing as it was provocative. “We are in perfect synchrony.”

Riko glimpsed. He didn’t bother giving an answer, exasperated by Nathaniel’s games. Riko’s silences never meant yes or no, he knew that much, and wasn’t stupid enough to assume anything out of them. Instead he took the liberty to stare at Riko’s profile, enjoying every bit of it in the comfortable darkness of the back of the bus.

“Next time you want to smash someone, wait for the end of the game.”

“Smashing people is our policy, remember?”

“Not when it comes to you.” The words felt empty—Nathaniel was Riko’s mercenary after all. He was sent to whoever has crossed him enough to deserve a correction, and to anyone who stood out dangerously enough to become a threat. Nathaniel had been meant peace; he was only war and chaos, leaving trails of blood behind him. Like a good Wesninski. “You are too important to be put away by incompetent referees.”

“Jealous?” He didn’t answer, but then again, Riko’s silences were purely silences. “I apologize, nobody smashed your face in tonight. I would have gladly done it otherwise.”

“Yes.” Riko rested his head against the seat. “I know.” He sounded gloomy, like Nathaniel’s only purpose was to hurt and damage and kill, and there was nothing to do about it—like he hadn’t spent these last few years sending Nathaniel to beat people up. It would have been hypocritical, but saddened, still.

Could Nathaniel be more than a killer, more than a knife? It was hard to tell.

Nathaniel couldn’t tear his eyes off of Riko. Royal, otherworldly yet devoid of the self-awareness Nathaniel arrogantly entertained, and he couldn’t quite tell where his grace lied exactly. The slow sharpness of his movements, the intensity of his gaze—he didn’t know.

He turned away eventually. It didn’t matter.

 

 

“There’s a party in the basement of the dorm building C,” Nathaniel said as he sat on the bench to massage his calves. He was covered in sweat, glistening under the neon lights of the weights room. Kevin and Jean sat on the opposite bench, looking at him with curious expressions.

“We will not go,” Riko said from where he stood, at the juice bar. He twirled his cup of sports drink and gave Nathaniel a look.

“What makes you think I wanted to go?”

“You brought it up.”

“Then what makes you think you have the power to forbid me?”

“You idiot,” he growled. “You make no sense.”

Riko looked down and chuckled, as though Nathaniel was so immensely stupid it could have been endearing. It wasn’t. He was about to put Nathaniel back in place when Kevin cut him off in extremis.

“Nathaniel,” he said—and ignored the furious gaze he was sent in return, “has better things than to go and get drunk with the common kind.”

“Do I, now?” he smiled, enjoying the way Kevin took risks by speaking on his behalf. It was vain and they all knew it, but they were all hopelessly pretentious and greedy for control, and somehow, they felt like controlling someone uncontrollable.

“You should practice with Riko.”

“I don’t practice unnecessarily,” Riko snapped dryly. He considered himself talented enough to grant himself a good night of sleep each day, and he was right; he had little to refine.

“The more practice, the better the synchrony,” Kevin insisted as he grabbed the towel at his sides and wiped his dripping forehead. His muscle top was clinging to his torso uncomfortably, and practicing underground always felt like suffocating no matter how functioning the AC was.

“We don’t need practice to be synchronous.”

Kevin shut up and looked at Riko. The way he looked back was stern and haughty, like a parent silencing their child with cold hard truths, and Nathaniel chuckled, dissolving the tension they had instantly created. Or perhaps did he make it worse; as he always did.

“Don’t project your weakness on us, Kevin. You’d be kind to work on them by yourself.” Kevin’s gaze slid from Riko to Nathaniel, frozen with anger, but Nathaniel’s grin didn’t budge. As intimidating as Kevin could be, Nathaniel only feared one man.

And loneliness—that, he feared too.

Not that he would ever tell them.

Jean turned his head to the bathroom door as it opened, and Nathaniel’s eyes followed on their own. Aaron Minyard appeared and walked his way to the machine he had previously left, four pairs of eyes watching him closely as he did. Kevin was suspicious, Jean disinterested; Riko watched over in far-off distrust; and Nathaniel, he was mesmerized.

“We picked them well.”

“I picked them well,” Riko corrected.

“Maybe you found them,” Nathaniel conceded as he turned to him. “But I convinced him.”

“I would have done it without you. Thinking about it, I should have.”

Nathaniel frowned, not quite offended, yet strangely irritated by his words. Being put aside by his partner was as irksome as it was unusual. It was the biggest punishment he could ever impose him, Riko knew, because Nathaniel couldn’t stand being alone. That he would be alone because Riko didn’t want him, it was even worse.

“And I convinced you, of all people. Don’t you think I can get anyone if I got you?”

Nathaniel stood up, face tense and cold. “You didn’t ‘get’ me.” He stepped closer to Riko, neck craning as he compensated for the shy few inches Riko had on him. “You didn’t anything.”

Silence settled and stretched, dangerous and heavy, as Kevin and Jean watched the scene happen. It wasn’t as it usually was, brief and childish—this was aiming for the delicate things they didn’t like to touch. They wanted to hit where it would hurt, even just a bit. They wanted to cause damage.

Jean grunted as he got up. “We should get back to work.” Nobody moved, and he frowned, peeved by them all. He didn’t bother repeating himself and disappeared to a bench press machine, where Kevin followed in a sigh.

Riko and Nathaniel didn’t even look.

“I will go.”

“No you won’t.”

“Try to stop me, then,” Nathaniel said—and smirked, something bad and sharp Riko knew better than to provoke. Yet here it was, adorning Nathaniel’s face like a bad omen. Somehow it sounded like a challenge, but Riko didn’t know what to do with that.

They stayed there for a minute and, finally, Nathaniel turned around to go back to the treadmill he had claimed all morning. Suddenly Riko was gone of his mind, like he didn’t exist, like he didn’t matter, and Riko stared expectantly as he waited for him to look back. He never did.

Riko fumed and winced, going back to his own machine. He had to know pushing Nathaniel away would result in being ignored. Nothing felt any worse than that.

The two of them bore the weight of their bitterness until it was lunch time. Curiously, Aaron didn’t leave the room. Nathaniel, who always liked to stay in the weights room a little longer than the others, stood beside the turned off treadmill as Aaron sat on a bench and laced off his shoes. They were alone.

“What’s the deal with your brother?”

Aaron looked up. He didn’t look surprised to see him there, and Nathaniel wondered if that had been intentional. Still, the boy didn’t reply and went back to his shoes like they were way more interesting than Nathaniel could ever be.

“You two don’t talk much.”

“I don’t talk much.”

“I got you talking,” Nathaniel mused. It didn’t seem like a thing everyone had managed to do.

Aaron looked up again and frowned, as though reminding himself to stay quiet even in Nathaniel’s presence. There was something about that boy, something that always made avoidance difficult. Pride, perhaps, like letting Nathaniel have the final word or assume things that were inaccurate was the worst case scenario. People like Nathaniel had the enviable talent of pushing your buttons hard enough to make you lose control.

It was what he wanted.

“I knew you would fare well in the Nest.” Aaron ignored him, so Nathaniel approached and leaned against a machine, arms crossed. “You seem like the type to evolve better under pressure.

“Has it always been like that?” Aaron idly asked, and unlaced his other sneaker.

“No.” Nathaniel looked around, pensive. He had seen so many lineups and so many players. “But they haven’t always been great, either.”

Aaron snorted. “You don’t include yourself in this.”

“I don’t.” It was meant to be an attack, but Nathaniel didn’t take offense. What was the point in denying something this obvious? He didn’t belong with the Ravens. He only stuck with them because they were a good fit for his talent. He couldn’t tolerate less. At the end of the day, he didn’t like the Ravens for their personality or their humanity, he liked them because they were harsh and brutal and wanted to win. They gave themselves all the means to do it. That’s what they did.

“And you sound like you know them well.” The innuendo was that Nathaniel had only been on the team for a few weeks, but Aaron couldn’t possibly know everything.

“I live here.”

Aaron processed his words, like he was trying to decide if they were true. Nathaniel could lie in his sleep, he really could; but most of the time, he was so shamelessly blunt it was unsettling. It made it hard to tell what was what.

Who was who.

“Don’t have a home?” Aaron mocked, going back to his shoe. Nathaniel had wasted enough of his time as it was.

“I do, actually.” Nathaniel put his gaze on him and Aaron tried to ignore the frustrating weight of it. It was piercing, and something about it made him feel way too bare. “I don’t do well with my family.”

Aaron’s fingers stopped around the lace. He didn’t pull, didn’t sit back. Nathaniel chuckled lowly.

“Neither do you. Am I right?”

Aaron slowly sat upright and his face went cold all over. “What do you know about me?”

“Nothing. That’s why I am asking you.”

“Well you don’t need to know these things.”

“No, but I want to.”

Aaron shook his head, exasperated. He looked seconds away from giving up, so Nathaniel remained patient and unmoving, until, finally, Aaron leaned back in a quiet sigh.

“We went to juvie together. Andrew and I. This practically crushed our chances of being adopted by someone nice. You know what I mean?”

Nathaniel didn’t say anything. He didn’t even blink.

A part of him wanted to say yes, but the other refused to give up on the shadowy figure of his father still cornering him in his mind, didn’t want Aaron to have access to such a deep and terrifying weakness. He wanted to remain strong and untouchable, and thought it better to be like that.

It was easier to pretend he couldn’t be moved.

“We went from home to home before that. And afterwards—it was difficult. Nobody wants troubled teenagers, old enough to even take care of themselves on their own. They want something else. Something easier to handle. That requires no effort.”

Aaron reeked bitterness from a mile away, and Nathaniel realized it was a taste oh so familiar. He could have tried to make him feel better, but these behaviors had no place in there, and he only met Aaron’s gaze with cold chilly irises.

“Everything requires effort.”

“Some things less than others,” Aaron snapped. He gave him a look. “You look like you require more than most people are willing to make.” Nathaniel arched a brow, intrigued by the taken risk—it sounded like provocation, but it was only honesty. He could count the number of times people had been honest with him on one hand. “Is that why people are afraid of you?”

“No,” Nathaniel said. “That’s another story.”

It was a lie: those were many stories, and each had the taste of blood. He had too much to know where to start.

“Are you afraid?” he settled for.

Aaron hesitated. Sitting unbothered like he was only getting late on everything by his fault, he didn’t look like he was awake enough to be afraid of anything. He looked jaded by the world and by the people in it. “No.”

Nathaniel stared, confused and mesmerized. “You should be.”

Aaron’s eyes asked: why, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t say anything.

It took a moment before they broke the eye contact, and another before Nathaniel finally pushed himself off the machine to head to the changing room. Everyone was done showering by now.

“Well,” he said as an adieu, “you are a very intricate thing, Aaron. Quiet and unnavigable, but interesting.”

Aaron watched him leave, confused. Nothing felt real anymore.

 

 

“I told him I would go,” Nathaniel smirked as he adjusted his shirt in the mirror. He was dressed in all black—black tee, black jeans, everything tight and spotless like he liked it. He met Jean’s eyes in the mirror.

“This is your problem now,” Jean dismissed from the bed, turning the page of a book he knew was probably in French. It was the only way he had found to stay close to his homeland and, accessorily, to not lose his mother-tongue. As English had finely settled on his tongue, the rest had progressively disappeared, making more room for it. Nathaniel, who knew more languages than he was expected to, could understand that a little.

“You have to convince him.”

“Kevin?” Jean said as he looked up.

“Riko.”

Jean stayed silent, and neither broke the eye contact through the mirror. Then Jean closed his book.

“Why do you think he’ll accept?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “He won’t allow me to go alone.” Perhaps because he had found Nathaniel alone in a corner once, shaking in panic. It was long ago, but Nathaniel couldn’t chase the souvenir off his mind. It was testament of weakness and he despised it.

“He won’t allow you to go at all,” Jean mocked in disbelief. “And Kevin will not fight for you on this one. You know he hates anything that resembles a gathering. Add alcohol and probably drugs, and he will call you immature. I bet Riko will agree if even Kevin doesn’t.”

“He will.” He paused. “He always tells me yes in the end.”

“Why?”

Nathaniel took a deep breath sign, tugging on his black watch and judging the finish look. In the back of his head, souvenirs of young boys standing in a changing room tickled him, surprisingly fresh. They had grown so much. Perhaps not in the best way. “Because he made me a promise.”

Jean frowned but didn’t ask. Then Nathaniel turned, asked ‘how am I?’ in a cheeky grin, and Jean threw the book at him. He caught it extremis, cutting his thumb on a page and neatly putting the book back on the desk. Jean asked him to close the door behind him but he left it wide open.

He chuckled as Jean’s insults echoed in the corridor.

 

 

Nathaniel didn’t wait for Riko to change his mind and went to Lydia instead. There were only three girls on the Raven lineup, but Lydia was the closest thing to an acquaintance, and he couldn’t possibly be patient enough to stand the two others. Lydia was a bit like him, he knew, ambitious and sarcastic, something wild people thought they could have. He knew Kevin had hooked up with her a while ago, mindlessly and, as Lydia said, for fun—but she didn’t belong to anyone. She was free, like Nathaniel.

Lydia was already dressed up when he rudely opened the door of her dorm room. She had obviously planned to go long before he even had the idea of going himself, and gave a quick smirk when she caught his reflection in her mirror, tapping powder onto her cheekbones. Her roommate was on the bed knotting the thread of her racquet, and didn’t bother look up.

She only did when Lydia pronounced his name, but swallowed and pretended not to see.

“Lydia,” he replied. She smirked once more and then the deal was made in silence.

“Want some?” she teased as she shook the powder brush in her hand. “You might want to hide that terrible number two on your cheek before you go.”

Nathaniel huffed. “Why would I?”

“You have quite the reputation here,” she mocked.

Nathaniel had always had his classes personally provided by tutors on Tetsuji’s command—claiming this allowed him to be more focused on Exy, and giving Kevin, Riko and Jean the same treatment—and hadn’t really spent that much time in Edgar Allan University itself. They knew about the Exy team’s infamous reputation, their ways and their talent, their place in the media, and the way they had repetitively won the Championships. They also knew about that strange pack of breathtaking players who adorned number tattoos on their cheekbones, and there was no doubt they also knew about Nathaniel’s liking for chaos.

“I am not going there under a mask.”

“It’s not a mask,” Lydia. “It’s makeup. Consider it as… a little help.”

“For what?”

She frowned, like she couldn’t believe he would ask such a thing. “For not making everyone run away at sight.”

He shrugged openly and, when he felt Lydia’s roommate, glanced at her. Their eyes met and she looked away instantly, making him grin in satisfaction. Lydia didn’t miss a bit of it.

“Quit it,” he said.

“As you want.” She sighed but put the brush down and then they were gone.

She knew Kevin enough to know Riko by extension, so questions were unneeded as they walked to the building. Lydia opened the door and got in first without hesitation, and Nathaniel followed, hands in his pockets. He could already hear the music pumping as they walked down the stairs and to the basement, and two sets of doors later, they were drowning in darkness, walls throbbing around them.

Nathaniel watched the nameless bodies move as the neon lights blinked above. It made the scene all too surreal, but he loved it. He stayed close to the walls at first, finding the blinking pattern unusual enough to make him unsteady, but by the time he reached where Lydia had headed, he was already accustomed to it. He was a boy made to adapt after all.

“Not much of a clubber, are you?” Lydia asked when she felt him at her sides.

“It’s not a club.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and he realized she was holding two cups. Nathaniel took the one she handed him. She’d known he would follow her.

“So what are you trying to do down here?”

“Be entertained.”

She looked around, squinting like she couldn’t find anything close to entertainment. “Ha. Good luck with that.” Then her eyes went back to him and she smirked. It was easy to tell she was the same kind of arrogance Nathaniel was: absolute and reckless, almost childish. “Unless you meant company.”

She hadn’t pried and she hadn’t asked why Nathaniel had strayed away from his usual pack of dogs. Jean and Riko weren’t anywhere near, she figured, and Kevin never participated to anything that didn’t concern Exy. Oh she couldn’t blame him—that’s how he had been raised. With a mother so famous, he hardly had anything else in his blood.

As for Nathaniel, he was a champion born of nowhere, a flower which had bloomed where nothing was meant to ever grow. At least—not to do anything than wither and die.

He didn’t realize he was there until he crossed his eyes. Riko was there, standing in the background feet away from them both. Lydia had her back turned, but Nathaniel could clearly see him there, as neon lights shone and disappeared and shone again. There, hardly lit and dressed in all black, tattoos overflowing where his shirt’s half-sleeves stopped, he looked like a god ready to kill.

And he really was.

Nathaniel smirked, turning his attention back to Lydia. He tilted his head to one side. “What do you have in mind?”

She pondered. “I heard things you know.” He didn’t answer, so she sighed excessively and went on. “I don’t want to end up with my throat sliced tonight.”

“You won’t,” he shrugged. Not that he cared enough to promise anything to a girl he didn’t know, but not that he cared enough about her to do her any harm anyways.

“I am allowed to do it then?”

Nathaniel wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t really think it through. Those things he was hardly familiar with. “Do what?”

Lydia didn’t bother replying. Instead, she reached out and pulled on the collar of his shirt to bring him close. He was slightly smaller than she was, but she made up for it by craning her neck down as their lips met. It was easy to feel Nathaniel tense and sharpen under her touch, but then Nathaniel’s opened eyes met Riko’s, where he still hadn’t moved, and he consciously brought a hand to the back of Lydia’s neck.

Riko’s gaze hardened in a second. Nathaniel knew him by heart, after all, which is why perhaps he deepened the kiss without ever closing his eyes. He didn’t want to miss any of it; any of the fractured looks Riko gave him from afar. It was provocation, but not just—it was something else, too, like punishment.

He had tried to push him away, so Nathaniel proved he fared fine alone. Or slightly less than alone.

He didn’t know what Riko was doing there. Surely not apologizing. Then what? Watching over him, or bringing him back to the Nest? Perhaps had he simply realized Nathaniel would only find trouble if left unsupervised and there was nothing to it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t going to ask. Not tonight, anyway.

They parted without a word and Lydia immediately went for a her drink, not quite prone to emotional lingering; but when Nathaniel searched for Riko again, he was gone.


End file.
